It was something in his eyes. Something just … wrong.
There was no chair on the other side of her tiny table, but someone got up and left, and Derrick pushed in the door as that student pushed out. He grabbed the chair along the way and dragged it noisily over to Claire’s table, where he sat, put his elbows on the table and said, ‘Hey, Claire. How was your day?’
She was
not
up for small talk. Something she’d learnt from Shane: there was a time for distracting chatter, and a time for shutting up and watching, and this was definitely a guy she could not afford to play games with. It was
his
game,
his
rules. She couldn’t win it. ‘You need to leave me alone, Derrick,’ she said, and she didn’t try to keep her voice down, either. The restaurant was packed with people, and some of them looked over – not alarmed, just curious onlookers. ‘Walk away right now.’
‘I’m not doing anything, Claire, c’mon. I just want to be friends. Liz is special to me; I ought to get to know the people she likes, right?’
‘Liz doesn’t want to see you. I don’t want to see you.’ Claire stood up suddenly, and the sound of her chair going over backward was very loud. Conversational buzz around them stopped. ‘You need to leave, right now.’
‘Or?’ Derrick didn’t seem alarmed at all. ‘You’ll call the cops and tell them I was politely making conversation?’
Claire didn’t even think about what she was going to do. If she had, she probably would have second-guessed it.
She picked up her full soda and flung it right in his face.
He gasped, jumped out of his chair, and stood there dripping and furious. Ice chunks glittered in his hair, and his shirt was stained and soaked.
Someone nearby started a slow clap. Others joined in.
Derrick’s menace was no longer simmering beneath the surface. He stared at Claire as if he intended to bite chunks out of her, and the small table between them didn’t seem like much, if any, protection. Neither did the people around them, who might cheer a gutsy move but would run from a fight.
She’d never missed having Shane at her back so much.
Derrick took in a deep breath, twitched all over, and forced out a smile that was all teeth. ‘All these people are witnesses. I never raised a hand to her, okay?
She’s
the one who assaulted me.’ He raised both hands, brushed the ice out of his hair, and backed away from the table, and Claire. ‘Damn, girl, back off the caffeine. I’m out.’ He sounded like a regular guy now, bemused by her reaction, and the clapping faded off. ‘Sorry if I scared you, I didn’t mean to.’ It sounded sincere. All of a sudden, the tide of popular sentiment was turning around them.
‘Yes, you did,’ Claire said flatly. ‘You know it and I know it. But you don’t scare me, Derrick. I’ve—’
Killed scarier things than you,
she almost said, but that would sound way wrong in this place, this time. ‘I’ve known plenty of guys worse than you. I’m still standing.’
‘Chick’s crazy,’ he said, to no one in particular – just a pronouncement, and it seemed like some of the others agreed with him. Some didn’t. One girl was frowning at Derrick, clearly alarmed; at least a couple of guys were not on his side, either. One of them – a big enough fellow – stood up.
‘Maybe just go, man,’ he said.
‘Why not her?’ Derrick shot back.
The guy shrugged. ‘Well, she’s got pizza. You don’t.’
It was a mild, but valid, point, and right then, one of the employees – probably the manager, Claire thought – came out from behind the counter and fixed Derrick, then Claire, with quelling looks. ‘Whatever’s going on, it stops here,’ he said. ‘Or I call the cops.’
‘No problem,’ Derrick said. He was still holding up his hands. ‘I’m going, man.’
He did, backing through the door, but as he walked past the plate glass window where Claire had first seen him, he sent her a quick, sideways look that was so malignant it might have caused cancer.
She was shaking all over, she realised – the aftermath of the adrenaline flood. She put her chair back upright and asked at the counter for some paper towel. The soda had mostly landed on the floor around Derrick’s chair, and she cleaned it up without complaint, and quietly apologised to those around her. They shrugged it off.
The pizza tasted like dust and cardboard, delicious as it probably was, and she ate fast, with her eyes fixed on that plate glass window.
Dreading the moment when she would have to step outside.
‘Hey.’ Claire flinched, but it was the boy who’d stood up to Derrick at the end; he’d walked up to her side, but she hadn’t noticed, because she’d been so intent on the window. ‘You worried about him?’
She laughed shakily. ‘A little, yeah.’
‘There’s a back door,’ he said. ‘It lets out on an alley but it’s only a quick run to the street. If he’s watching the front, you can duck him for now. But if you want my opinion, call the cops. There’s something not right about him.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I know.’ She stuck out her hand, and he shook it. ‘Thanks. I’m Claire, by the way.’
‘Grant,’ he said. ‘Take care.’
He didn’t offer to walk her home, but she wouldn’t have accepted, anyway; right now, the knife in her bag was the only thing she felt inclined to put her trust in.
The back door supposedly had an alarm, but it was propped open, probably to let in the breeze and compensate for the fierce heat coming out of the pizza ovens. Claire slipped through without anyone stopping her, and took a second to look over the alley beyond. It was deserted, and there was no place for Derrick to hide himself.
She ran for the side street, turned left, and headed straight home.
Even though she spent the whole walk looking over her shoulder, she didn’t see any sign of Derrick. Maybe he’d gone home to wash the sticky mess out of his hair, change clothes, and plot how to make her pay.
Not really all that comforting, in the end.
Claire’s moving boxes arrived an hour later at her apartment, courtesy of a small delivery truck; there weren’t many, and she signed for them as they were carried up to her room and piled in the very little space that remained. She obeyed Dr Anderson’s instructions and opened the carton that contained her Morganville-invented device … which looked a lot like some steampunked ray gun, only a whole lot clumsier. It was there. As far as she could tell, it was intact.
Liz wasn’t home. Claire locked up after the movers and went back upstairs to stack boxes in order of priority unpacking. She texted Dr Anderson to tell her the device was safe, and Anderson quickly got back to her to order her to wait at home. Apparently, she was sending reinforcements.
Claire spent the time waiting checking the windows for any signs of tampering. Nothing. All was secure, or as secure as it could be. She was unpacking winter clothing from the last box when she finally got a phone call to her cell – not from Dr Anderson, but from a number she didn’t recognise.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Claire. You don’t know me, but don’t hang up. Irene Anderson asked me to drop in and take you to her lab. My name is Jesse.’ She sounded calm and relaxed, and had a slightly exotic accent, something that vaguely reminded her of the Deep South, but it was well concealed. ‘My friend Pete and I will be there around six.’
‘That’s late,’ Claire said, surprised. ‘I thought she wanted me to get it to her as soon as possible.’
‘Day jobs, they do throw a crimp in your social life,’ Jesse said, and chuckled. It was a warm rumble of a sound, and despite her current on-alert-for-trouble attitude, she found herself liking the other girl for it. ‘Coming as fast as we can. Oh, and she said you might be a little trigger happy, so please, don’t shoot. We come in peace, and I’d rather not go in pieces.’
‘I promise to ask questions first,’ Claire said. Jesse laughed again, and hung up.
And she did ask questions. She called Dr Anderson, who confirmed straight away that Jesse and Pete were known to her. Claire hadn’t really doubted it, but she was still worried about Derrick; it seemed unlikely
he
knew about Dr Anderson and the escort she’d ordered up, but just now, paranoia was an advantage.
She spent the spare few hours studying, surfing the ’net, and wondering – worrying – about where Shane was, and what he was doing. She’d had an e-mail, she saw – not a video this time, just plain text, telling her that he had a new phone number, and giving it to her. She memorised it and put it into her phone and logged it in her computer in her private phone list – her usual triple backup plan – and was considering calling him (just to be sure the number was right, of course).
Just as she hovered her finger over his name in the address book, though, she heard a loud knock on the door. Her gaze jerked up. It was – surprisingly – six o’clock, and they were right on time.
She still checked the peephole before she began clicking back the locks. Not Derrick, for sure; a boy and girl, both a little older than she was. The girl was the one who drew the attention first, because she was tall, well built, and had fiery red hair that fell in shining waves almost to her waist. She was also – like Eve – Goth style, with lots of black eyeliner, pale make-up, and unnaturally coloured lips. Skulls and leather featured heavily in her outfit.
Claire eased the door open just a bit and said, ‘Jesse and Pete?’
Jesse smiled and slid a thumb toward her short, easily overlooked friend. He was built like a bulldog, but he had a pleasant face, and he gave her a weary smile and wave. ‘Pete. I’m Jesse,’ the redhead said. ‘So. We’re taking you to Dr Anderson, right? Let’s get going. Got places to be, yo.’
‘Let me get my bag,’ Claire said. ‘Come in.’
Pete and Jesse shook their heads, almost in unison. ‘Got to keep an eye on the car,’ Pete said. ‘This neighbourhood, we’ll get ticketed if we don’t stay right here.’
‘Oh.’ Claire hadn’t thought of that; there was a car sitting down at the kerb, shiny and dark blue. It had tinting and what looked like death metal decals – Jesse’s ride, probably. ‘I just need to lock this door, that’s all.’ Because she had a horror now of leaving it open, even though she didn’t
think
Jesse and Pete would let Derrick slip inside while she was gone.
‘I’ll go in, and Jesse can stay out here and guard the car,’ Pete offered. ‘Is this thing you’ve got heavy?’
‘A little,’ Claire said. ‘It’s not bad.’
Jesse patted Pete’s shoulder. ‘Let my man here carry it, he loves showing off his muscles for the ladies.’
‘Don’t be sexist. I flex for guys too.’
‘Yeah, but not with so much
style
.’ Jesse winked. ‘Go on, you. I’ll tackle the metre maid if necessary.’
Claire led Pete upstairs, pointed out the box, and Pete very happily (and super easily) picked it up and got it down the long flights without a problem. ‘So, you’re just moving in, right?’ he said. ‘New student?’
‘Does it show?’
‘Not as much as most. I don’t see a lot of kitten posters and boy bands on the walls up there.’
Claire almost laughed. ‘Not my style. Though if you know of any place I can get a sparkly unicorn poster …’
‘Ask Jesse,’ he said, and stood aside as she opened up the door. ‘She’s the sparkly unicorn fancier.’
He said it loudly enough that Claire figured it was bait for Jesse to respond, and the redhead probably normally would have done it, but she was standing very still, facing away. This time of year, and with the height of the buildings, the sky was a dusky blue, well into twilight, and Claire couldn’t see much farther than the other side of the street, so she couldn’t figure out what had attracted Jesse’s undivided attention.
Then a streetlight flickered on, shedding a cold pale light over concrete, a fireplug at the corner, some trash bags … and a man standing on the sidewalk, leaning against a wall, watching them.
‘Friend of yours?’ Jesse asked. She sounded calm and relaxed, still, but her body language said something different.
Claire couldn’t see his face, but the size looked right. ‘It’s probably Derrick. My roommate’s ex. He’s a stalker.’
‘Want us to go have a little chat?’ Jesse asked, and Claire realised with a start that she was serious about it. ‘Pete?’
‘Always up for a little heart-to-heart chat,’ he said, ‘but Anderson was pretty firm about this thing being a priority. So maybe we leave it for later, okay?’
Jesse hadn’t moved; Derrick had her attention fixed as if she’d been glued down in one direction. She finally sighed and turned her head to give Pete a disappointed look. ‘You take all the fun out of life, you know that?’ Pete shrugged, as if he lived with disappointment, and carried the box down the stairs to the car. Jesse stayed put, still attentive toward Derrick’s silent, still presence across the street, as Claire locked and rechecked the door. ‘Do you have an alarm in there?’
‘No,’ Claire said. ‘I told Liz we need to get one, but she doesn’t think we can afford it.’
‘Better broke than dead,’ Jesse said. ‘I can smell the crazy on that man from here. I have a nose for it.’ In the dim light, a passing car’s lights hit Jesse full in the face, and lit her up like a billboard. Her blue eyes were very, very bright, and for a second Claire had a Morganville déjà vu … but this was the real world, and Jesse was just a badass. Like Pete.
Maybe that was enough.
I was up to my elbows in hot water.
I don’t mean that figuratively. It was actual hot water, with suds, and I was washing bar glasses. My second full day in Cambridge, and I had a job – crappy as it was – at a place called Florey’s Bar & Grill, although the only thing I’d seen them grill so far had been some burgers and hot wings. It was the kind of place that offered up a food menu small enough to fit on a business card, and a nine-page drinks list.
So even though my official title was dishwasher, I was washing glasses. Every once in a while, there was a plate for variety. Maybe a fork. Not much else.
Like all industrial kitchens everywhere, it was humid, hot and a little nasty; the building was old and had probably seen various owners shilling drinks for at least a hundred years. The plumbing probably hadn’t been significantly upgraded in all that time. Hell, it probably had rats older than me, and maybe bigger, too. When I was done with the glasses – if that ever happened – I’d be expected to mop and scrub the place out.